


miami in three

by lunaeobscura



Category: Moonlight (2016)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Sex, Lowercase, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-12-01 00:24:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11474730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaeobscura/pseuds/lunaeobscura
Summary: three distinct moments:the beachthe cop carthe sofa at Kev's





	miami in three

**Author's Note:**

> This only makes sense in my head. I saw Moonlight for the first time three nights ago (I KNOW, I’M SURPRISED TOO) and I needed to write about it, nonsense or not. Haven’t written in a WHILE, so it could be that I’m out of practice, (says the creative writing student). Anyway, enjoy!

_on the beach_

neon-tinged nights

disgruntled noises outside walls

mom screaming and you,

you

you

_you_

_in the_ _cop_ _car_

look at me, Kev. 

go ‘head, smack my mouth open again, let blood stain your fingers. i hope it don’t come out. i hope it stick like dried come, tacky and uncomfortable, no sand to help you wash it out. go ‘head, Kev, split me open. 

i get up, i get up every time, not to take more and stand firm even in pain, eyes shining blue blue blue, but to hit you back, no matter what we was at the beach under moonlight, blue blue _blue_ _r_ with blunt smoke and whatever sadness hid in us. 

hit me too, ‘cause if my touch is out of bounds, grab me, bruise me, mark me all up like a dog, be up in my territory. or lemme be up in yours, tight, close, aggressive. you ain’t soft, Kev, but i am. i dunno how to change.

 

_on the sofa with you_

under the moon, Kev, i ain’t never little or black, i’m just me. under the moon, i touch you with fingertips, not knuckles, to remember the feel of your skin. your neck against my lips, fond and soft like me. inside, i’m small and runty still, 

always been tender,

tender like bruised veins, like turkey meat ready to be carved open.

but you stitch me up, Kev, you really do. your hand on my neck, your eyes on mine, your hand under my zip, your eyes mighty fine, 

not blue, not then, just dark, just you. looking, tearing, mending. you stitch me up. 

no other man touched me, Kev, of course not. ask yourself why. i use grills on my teeth to protect them ‘cause they so fragile sometimes, more than me with all my tears, fragile like us on the beach, friction and heat, even in front of water. 

i can’t protect me

but you will.


End file.
